


The Notebook

by samidha



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Abusive John Winchester, Alternate Universe: Dean Knows All The Secrets, Angst, Bad Parent John Winchester, But it's pre-series/pre-canon angst so probably not that bad now, Communication, Communication Failure, Diary/Journal, Epistolary, Gen, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Lack of Communication, No seriously: angst, Pre-Series, Sam Doesn't Call Dean, Sam Keeps A Journal, Sam Winchester's Journal, Stanford Era, Winchester Communication Fail
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-11
Updated: 2011-03-11
Packaged: 2018-12-12 21:39:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11745714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samidha/pseuds/samidha
Summary: There's one bag that survives the fire.





	The Notebook

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a comment fic meme but I can't remember the prompt and it became very long for comment fic. It became its own thing. In a weird way this reminds me of voicemail fix it, but...it's not. But it's not not a fix it. I don't know. Basically: feels.

There’s one bag that survives the fire. The one Sam threw three changes of clothes (which Dean is now laundering) and his half-moon knife into. 

The notebook is at the very bottom of the bag, under the clothes, wedged so hard inside that he’s pretty sure Sam has forgotten it’s even there.

Dean pulls it free in a fit of curiosity, opens it without even thinking of anything but good-natured blackmail, fodder for the next prank war.

He’s definitely not expecting what lies inside. But once he opens the pages, sees the familiar blockish sprawl of Sam’s handwriting, it’s like an accident he can’t turn away from. It’s like he isn’t even here, in this time and place.

He’s with Sam. Like the boy has just grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and pulled him as close as he can, like he is inside Sam’s mind.

And he can’t stop reading.

*~*~*

6-23-02

D-

Turns out the bus is no picnic. There’s a guy giving me the stink eye, like he’s offended I’m so tall or something. Don’t worry. (I know you’re not.) I already Christo’d him. I know Dad wants me gone, so I’m gonna have to be real careful now that I’m on my own. I got it covered. I know what’s out there in the dark.

No one wants the seat next to me, so I put my duffel there. It’s the second transfer and somehow I’m still sitting here alone. Wonder if they can tell how I feel about how Dad let me go, you know? Like the time he turned on a dime and trashed all of our toys in a rage. You pretended you were fine with it, but he trashed your Lego models that you used to work on in all those long weeks we had alone and I know you were spitting mad about it. He said a real hunter should be able to get by with one duffel bag not devoted to weapons and supplies, and he held us to that from then on. I wanted to punch him in the face that day, and it’s a good thing you got between us because he would have laid me out flat.

Don’t worry, Dean. I’ll remember that.

-S

8-25-02

D-

First day of student orientation today. The freshmen are all moved in, going over our summer reading (Oedipus) and doing these ice-breakers every night. It would drive you crazy. All this sharing and caring stuff. I don’t mind it, but I don’t have anything to say, really, either. I made up a story about a pet dog. A pet dog, can you imagine? Actually, this one time-- Never mind. It makes me laugh now. Us with a pet. Dad would probably have killed it in about a week, starved it or shot it or something. 

Yeah.

Guess I’m still angry. Probably ~~always~~ will be for a while. That’s okay. You guys don’t want me back. Maybe one day I  will have a dog.

I snagged a part-time job at a book store right off campus. Got it 'cause I came into town about two months before the students who aren’t living here year-round already. I like to kind of wander through the classics sections and see who’s studying the Latin and stuff like that. You’d laugh at me, but it’s fun. Hell, you could probably give these kids a run for their money, whether you’d laugh or not.

That would be kind of-- Oh, well. 

I better go.

-S

9-15-02

D-

Sometimes I feel out of place here. No matter how many books I bury myself in-- I just-- I know I’m just starting out. I know that if it weren’t for Dad, for... everything, you would be the little... angel (Shut up, don’t laugh. I’m going somewhere with this) or whatever... sitting on my shoulder and cheering me on. I know you at least got that school was important to me. But I just-- it’s really monotonous at times. I’m not like my tenth grade English teacher who was saving herself for Shakespeare, you know? I don’t get an adrenaline rush from Dickens.

It’s so tiring to lie all the time. You were always better at this than me. But we always had one foot out the door and you always knew that. I’m betting that made things easier.

I can’t imagine four years like this.

Four years.

But I’ll muddle through. It’s the Winchester Way, right? Besides, I finally got what I wanted.

-S

10-02-02

D-

Dreamt of you last night. You made a mis-step versus some... thing with claws out to here and it got you in the arm. Woke up and it was the first time I could remember feeling sorry for all this.

So.

There it is.

I didn’t really think about that.

Really wanted to call you, but I didn’t. Figured you might not want me rubbing... freedom, or whatever this is, in your face.

Don’t worry. I won’t.

-S

12-25-02

D-

Merry Christmas. Oh, who am I kidding? This Christmas sucks out loud. Worse than the Christmas with the beer wreath. Worse than any of them. Even Broken Bow.

I don’t know if I can do this.

Spent so long today staring at my phone, hovering over your name, but I never let myself hit send. I didn’t want to risk his wrath.

Feels like I’m walking around with my insides torn to shreds. Wonder if you’re as miserable as me.

If you are, well... I doubt I can fix it.

Maybe I’ll call later. Fuck him, right? I don’t know if I will. Don’t know if I can.

It still hurts like a bitch. He threw me out. Most of the time I’m angry enough that that ends up being my focus... ~~but...~~

Not today.

-S

02-01-03

D-

I always thought this would be easier. Some ways, it is. But not really. Different, but not easy.

Can’t call you. You’d laugh in my face and call me a little bitch for this.

But I wish I could.

-S

03-14-03

D-

Spring break. So why am I so tired? Working pretty much every shift I can at the store. We filled up with other students once we were all moved into the dorms and it’s just me and this kid named Luis who stayed in town, so we’re pretty short-handed and things are quiet. It’s a lot of work, though, putting on a may-I-help-you face every day and keeping it up through the entire shift. That’s another thing you’re better at, even though I think you’d hate this as much as I do. Not even time to browse the shelves. Life doesn’t end when the students go home. It just gets less... loud and obnoxious.

Hey. It’s Pi(e) day. You should totally have some.

-S

05-03-03

D-

Luis from the book store and I won our spot in the housing lottery. He’s gonna be my roommate in the fall. Exciting times. It’s good to have people here. Weird, but good. I could get used to this.

-S

06-01-03

D-

This is what my day looks like this summer: Wake up. Head to the book store. Smile and say ma’am til my face feels like it’s gonna get stuck that way. Head home and sleep. Do it all again the next day. This monotony would kill you. I guess it’s kind of better than the weeks we used to spend alone as kids, but that was... known territory, or whatever.

Luis is gone back to Missouri. Missouri, of all places. What the hell is even there besides that poltergeist that one time? Well, I guess Luis is.

-S

06-25-03

D-

You know something? I finally figured out half the reason I’m so nervous around here all the time. Everything is so... clean. I mean, sure, clean sheets with no burns on them are amazing (amazing, seriously.). But I keep waiting for the smell of smoke. And leather. I miss those.

Hope you and Dad are out there making the world safer right now.

Still haven’t called. I know. I guess I’m just not sure how you’d feel about it. Waiting for you to call first so that I know it’s okay.

Wonder how long I’ll wait.

-S

09-25-03

D-

Taking American Folklore. Trying not to laugh in the face of Professor Stein. I have to keep reminding myself to write my papers as if this is all theory and legend. I have no idea what made me think taking this class would be a good idea. Easy A, I guess, but I really didn’t know how hard it would be to pretend.

Feels kind of like the time I actually dramatized a hunt for one of those What Did I Do Over Summer Vacation assignments and got told I could make it as a fiction writer. Only dial it up to eleven ’cause that’s the whole class. It makes me nervous. But I know by now none of that shows on my face. I’m getting better at all this, or it seems like I am.

-S

10-31-03

D-

Got your message today. You sounded like shit. I put your new number in my phone. Was really surprised you called and gave it to me. Wondered if you were okay. But it’s been so long now, I felt weirder than ever about calling. So I decided to write this down. Just like always. I know you’ll never see these. Your head might explode from all the over-sharing. I think I would feel... well, I don’t know, honestly. I guess they feel more like mine than yours, now. I remember I used to fantasize about sending you this book, but now my stomach kind of curdles at the idea. It would just bring up too much shit, you know?

Sometimes I don’t know why I keep writing them. It’s been long enough now that I feel like you aren’t ever coming back, but if there was anyone I’d ever want to write to, it’d be you, so I’ll probably keep it up for a while even though I feel like you’re long gone.

-S

12-01-03

D-

Wow. So I have this friend, Brady. Haven’t mentioned him before, I don’t think. He lived on my hall last year. Pre-med. Really kind of intense, really driven guy. Maybe it was going home that did it to him, I dunno. His dad is kind of... exacting, maybe like our dad I guess, minus all the survivalist stuff. Sent Brady to prep schools, boarding him out, you know? The whole nine. Anyway, he went home and there must have been some familial explosion because he came back completely fucked. He’s stopped doing pre-med track, he carries a fifth with him all over campus... No shame at all about it. Really glad I kind of talked him out of rooming with me. I had Luis as a fall-back plan even though Luis is nuts. What is the deal with people who are fans of zombie movies? ~~Don’t they know~~ I guess they can’t help it, not knowing what’s out there but I just...  really?

Then again I guess you like zombie movies. It’s different though.

Whatever. So Brady is on a bender.

I’ve been trying to convince him not to trash his future just because his dad is a tool, but it’s hard. Hard to be around him sometimes. I’ve settled into my routine, you know? I’m getting good at this. I ~~dunno~~ don’t know how much help is too much. 

I guess you wouldn’t have too much sympathy for me in all this, but it just kind of sucks. I do okay here, but it’s not like I am drowning in admirers or anything, and Brady is a really good guy. You know? I don’t wanna see him go down like this.

Oh, well. Can’t live his life for him. Can’t fix it. Still, it’s kind of sad to watch.

-S

03-16-04

D-

Thought of you today. More specifically, how you would be ribbing me right now if you were here. There’s this girl in History of the Roman Empire (I am acing it. Latin is good for something else.) Legs that go on forever. I don’t think she knows I exist yet. She is totally California. Blonde and tall and tanned, but not in a disgusting, oven-baked way. I think you would approve. Not sure what that really means but I...yeah. I’m gonna try getting her to come for coffee at the book store one day. Maybe she’ll think I’m industrious or something.

-S

03-25-04

D-

Brady had this moment of clarity or something this week. He was almost normal. Teasing me about the girl in my class that I haven’t said anything to. It turns out she lives one floor up. With Becky. He invited her to our last hall party without telling us, even though he doesn’t live with us. It was exactly the kind of punk thing he would’ve done before whatever happened to him, so we let him, you know? She brought cranberry and orange juice and was in general kind of mother-henning us, but apparently Luis threw up right in front of her room last weekend, so she had reason. He was really trashed. Anyway, we got to talking. She is so out of my league, Dean. Well. Maybe when I’m in law school things will be even. She wants her Ph.D in psych, and I don’t doubt for a second she can go on and get it.

Orange juice or no, I got really drunk. Really. Think you would be proud of me. Well, except nothing went anywhere, not that night, but I think things might, soon enough.

I don’t wanna be drunk for any of that, anyway.

-S

04-02-04

D-

Asked Jessica to come for coffee at the store. We hit it off. Well, she hit it off with Sam Winchester, College Student. It’s weird. Being here, I feel less like my name fits me every day. Sometimes Luis calls me from across the quad and I don’t even answer because... I haven’t ever felt less like a Winchester than I do now. I guess that’s good. I guess it’s inevitable.

-S

05-02-04

D-

Man, only I could have dreams as weird as this. 

I almost called you about it, it felt so real, and this insane part of me that can’t get over what Dad did had me thinking he would want to hear about it, you know? And it’s easier to think of calling you, even though I still never have.

I can’t decide what’s worse, dreaming of you getting hurt, or dreaming this stuff. All of them are in Technicolor and hyper-real. I dreamed up this guy with yellow eyes. I woke up sweating like crazy and I could swear for a second the room was on fire. I smelled smoke. But it was nothing in the end and I didn’t call. Couldn’t bear the idea of a lecture. Whatever. That was last week, and it only happened the one time. I’m fine.

Not that you were asking, but you know.

-S

08-24-04

D-

I don’t remember how it came up, but Jess finally made her opinion known on how I stayed at a hostel for the summer and kept working at the book store. She invited me to move into the place her parents help with the rent on. I said no and she rolled her eyes so hard it made my head hurt in sympathy and then... well, I moved in this week.

I really love her.

Just wanted to tell someone. I thought you’d like to know. You know. If things were different.

-S

01-05-05

D-

Dreamed of the man with the yellow eyes again. Been a while. A long while. I almost forgot how creepy these dreams were.

I would call you, I really would, but it’s just been too long.

I’m sorry.

-S

08-31-05

These dreams need to stop. I’m no hunter anymore. I don’t need this. I bought her a ring. I’m interviewing for law school in the fall. I have a good shot at staying here. They need to stop.

10-15-05

God, I hate this time of year. She’s going to make me go to a party. A party.

I’ll be armed.

10-20-05

The dreams are really kicking up. I always wake up smelling smoke, and suddenly it doesn’t feel like home at all. I don’t know how much more of this I can take. But it has to be nothing. It has to.

I’m going to marry this girl.

10-30-05 

Almost November 2.

I had this weird feeling like... what if my family showed up while I’m in the thick of all this?

No idea if I want it to happen or not. Probably not. It wouldn’t mean anything but trouble.

*~*~*

He flips through the last few pages of the notebook on reflex, part of him expecting more letters even though he knows exactly what happens from then on in. He stands there in the laundromat and turns this new knowledge, this collection of things that cannot be unseen, over in his mind. He puts the book down reluctantly, runs his hands over the cover, thanks his lucky stars for two AM laundry runs and empty laundromats. 

He thinks about opening the book and reading through it again, but the thought of coming to the end fills him with sense memories of the fire, heat and smoke and ash thick in his throat. He can’t imagine what the dreams must have done to his brother. Can’t imagine discussing them, or the ache in his chest the idea produces, in any way whatsoever. He thinks of running back to Sam, crowding into his space and just holding on for all he’s worth. 

But he can’t, he just can’t. Even that is too much, no matter how much Sam may have needed him, or he may have needed Sam, in those long, long years of radio silence.

He stuffs the notebook back in the bottom of the bag, then settles the clean laundry over it. He zips the bag up tight and shoulders it. Then he does the only thing he can. 

He gets in the car and heads back to Sam.


End file.
